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December 30, 2009

In my teenage years I had a weird habit of slugging people. Not right in the face, thank goodness, but a slug in the arm. When we were joking around, or if I was being teased, or if things just got uncomfortable I'd unleash a sling of sarcasm and a slug. So many of my friends did it that I didn't pause for a moment to consider that there was anything wrong with it.

Then DH came into the picture. Our relationship was going along, not engagement serious yet, but we were spending a lot of time together. One day I slugged him, he rubbed his arm, looked at me and said, "You know, that hurts."

"Oh, come on."

"No, really."

Pause. Wheels turn. A big tough man was telling me that my slugs hurt. I could take it two ways. Be happy that I made an impact, or stop because hurting anyone should be avoided. When we are hurt emotionally we have similar choices.

I had been hurt. People don't get through their teenage years without some measure of grief and heartache. The way I chose to deal with pain was to cover it up, act tough, be tougher than the pain. It became my identity. I was a tomboy, dressed in holey jeans and t-shirts and had strictly sworn off pink. I ignorantly thought that I didn't need anybody or anything, despite the fact that I clung to some people very tightly. I didn't wear makeup, I said because I didn't want to, but honestly I might have if I had known how to use it or owned any. My clothes were baggy- to hide a developing body that I felt self-conscious about and because my clothes had to last more than one season. My art fit in well with the facade, the great mysterious artist with complicated and depressed emotions.

When DH and I had that conversation about hitting, it was a small pivot point in my life. Because of DH's feelings for me, I didn't shrug off his comment. His soft answer turned away my emotional wrath. I tried to stop slugging. So silly that I couldn't stop overnight, but it had become a habit, an instant reaction to certain situations - situations which made me uncomfortable.

I think when I stopped slugging I started to soften. DH's love softened me too. Instead of changing the conversational dynamic with a slug, I had to face what made me uncomfortable. Then I made choices about how to behave that were more in line with what my beliefs were. What Christ exemplified. As my soul has strengthened I have been braver about being soft.

We didn't hug or kiss much in my family growing up, but DH's family did. That took some getting used to. It's hard to keep up that tough girl facade when kissing people.

Somewhere along the line I started to dress differently too. It probably started when I got a job as a receptionist. I had to dress in a more respectable way than holey jeans and over sized t-shirts. Becoming a wife and mother probably had something to do with it too. It opened my eyes to the purpose of my body, and the amazing things that are accomplished with it. It made me want to look like a woman, a strong soft woman who cares for her body.

My language changed too. Sarcasm is still a part of my repertoire, but it isn't as frequent or as harsh as it was in the past. C. S. Lewis has written that “if prolonged, the habit of flippancy builds up around a man the finest armour plating against [God] that I know. It is a thousand miles from joy; it deadens, instead of sharpening, the intellect; and it excites no affection between those who practise it.” (from here)

I understand from numerous personal experiences that forgiveness is better than revenge or holding a grudge.

Sting once sang about the poor in spirit, the meek, inheriting the earth: "What good is a used up world and how could it be worth having?" Being meek is a tricky thing, because it can easily be confused with weakness. Being meek is an inner strength which allows us to be humble and soft on the outside while strong as steel on the inside, keeping our morals and values intact.

As my DH has exemplified to me many times, a soft answer does turn away wrath. Holding a child and softly whispering words of correction is more effective communication than loud harsh words.

Cleaning our home and making it comfortable brings softness into our family. A sweet place to lay my burdens down, and I hope it is the same for those I love.

Instead of fearing the next painful blow life has in store, which seems inevitable, I look forward with hope. There is more in the future to embrace than there is to fear.

A welcoming hug, handshake, or smile to my fellowman could be seen as softness in the head. But I welcome the opportunity, no matter how small, to soften the life of another.

December 14, 2009

The BMI issue is continuing to haunt me. Last week there was an extra paper tucked into A's stellar report card. It was her health report from the school nurse. Her grades were above average, with something exceptional in every subject. She did so well, but there was that little stupid paper, with her BMI glaring, sucking the grandness out of her scholarly accomplishments.

Then yesterday I helped in the kitchen at the stake youth fireside. There was a great guy who is a wonderful cook and made all the food (and it was awesome!), he works in a college library, ultra intelligent, friendly, well-spoken and whose wife is expecting a baby any day. Everything is going great in his life - except his BMI. He went to the doctor this month and got the same news my daughter and I did - we're obese. While we discussed BMI's with a group of people, another man spoke up about signing his daughter up for dance lessons. He was told that there are several dance academies in the area that his neighbors steered them away from because they are so focused on the weight of the little girls in their programs.

This morning I can't help but feel that there is a reason this theme is repeating itself. At the gym this morning as I laid on the mat stretching after walking/running and biking (mixing it up to keep boredom and pain away) I thought about what to do, if I should do anything. Something came to my mind-

My friend Traci once told me something that she loved about her family growing up. There were many kids in her family and several of the older siblings were excelled in academics. They repeatedly came home with great report cards. Then there was her younger brother, his grades bucked the norm in their household, they were not good. The attitude her parents took is that every person is different, that they all had different talents and abilities and that school was not one of her brother's talents, as it was for other members of the family. Her parents helped her brother with his schoolwork and told him that he had other talents, some that hadn't even been found yet. The other kids were told to support their brother and never think less of him because his talents weren't the same as theirs. It was a struggle for him, emotionally and scholastically. *Eventually he did find his talents- he became great at soccer, is the life of the party and took it upon himself to read the Book of Mormon as a teenager. With hard work and diligence he went on to earn his MBA and is now a stock broker. His parents were supportive and enabled his success because they valued him and his talents even before those talents had been fully realized.

I am impressed by Traci's parents. They believed fully in God's plan for their son. They put their trust in their son, believing that he had amazing talents even if they couldn't see them. Instead of pressuring their son to meet the standards of their other children, they recognized that he was different and valued that difference. They still expected him to try in areas that he didn't excel in, but they didn't pressure him to the point of feeling like a failure.

At the gym I tossed these thoughts around in my head, wondering if I can be that kind of parent for A. Can I help her make efforts in an area she isn't good in, while still keeping her personal view of her worth intact?

Then I heard the nearby exercise instructor say, "David! We need a concert over here, it's her birthday!" I looked over at David who was ambling over to the birthday girl.

David is at the gym everyday, lifting weights, using the stairclimber, and who knows what else, because he is there before me and stays long after I leave! David has physical disabilities so that his body doesn't work with him, it seems to work against him (cerebral palsy maybe?). Those muscles that rebel against the impulses his brain sends are well-toned from his fierce determination and exercise. Despite the fact that David will never run a race or compete in a fitness competition, he works as hard as those that do.

David pulled a harmonica out of no-where and begun to play a blues-y version of "Happy Birthday". It was the best harmonica I've ever heard in person. David has found a way to make his body work for him, he's found talent amidst his shortcomings. It's like his own personal diamond in the rough. We're all a little rough, but we all also have at least one diamond hiding inside us as well. Probably a few emeralds and rubies too.

We can't let the world tell us that what we have to give isn't important or worthwhile if it doesn't meet certain criteria. Analyze what your definition of success really is. What I want for my children is happiness and fulfillment, not bags of money (which is what the world thinks success is). Every person can be successful, not every person can be rich or famous. While bodyweight may be a struggle for many of us (and it is important because it effects our longevity and quality of life), it doesn't mean that our other qualities are diminished because of it. I'm just sick of the world trying to tell me, and my family, that we're not up to par. In the end what par is doesn't even matter because I'm not playin' golf!

*After I initially wrote this post I checked my facts with Traci, she corrected a few details about her brother's story. She does have a brother who is a sculptor, I just mixed up which one it is!

December 02, 2009

Have you ever calculated your Body Mass Index? It is a number showing the relation between your height and weight which is used to clinically label a person underweight, normal, obese, or morbidly obese. They have BMI charts for adults and children of each gender. Just for a point of reference, my BMI is 30 - which means I am obese. Have you seen me lately? (pics of me here & article and pics about BMI)

A woman is her own most critical judge, but I would still not label myself obese. I workout for 45 minutes, three days a week and eat healthy. I feel that in this world where junk food surrounds us, I am doing a good job caring for my body. But there's still that number, my BMI, haunting me every time I go to the doctor. It's just something you have to swallow when you're already doing what you can. At least that's how I saw it until my daughter's doctor started talking BMI.

Two years ago my daughter had a physical. At that time the doctor very insensitively talked to me about my daughter's weight in front of her. It made me angry and my daughter was very quiet. Later I couldn't get a word out of her about it. Since then, and because of my health issues, we've been working to improve the entire family's eating habits with a focus on health, not weight.

This year I scheduled my daughter's appointment with a different doctor in the same practice, hoping to get a little more tact (both of these doctors are women, if that matters). It was wrong to hope. Despite my daughter's BMI ranking going down from her last physical the doctor didn't recognize the positive change. She talked about my daughter's weight at length, in front of her, while she sat there close to naked in a hospital gown. The doctor nit-picked for the rest of the appointment, commenting on things too personal for me to relate here. Then as the final kicker the doctor announced that my daughter would need blood tests because of her BMI. The stony look on my daughter's face broke, and she looked at me with eyes as big as saucers.

My daughter and I spent the rest of the evening in a dance of emotion. She refused to talk, we both cried, and I tried to find some way to salvage her self-esteem. Thankfully we had a supportive and loving family night so that by the time she went to bed there was a smile on her face. Not that that means all is well though. My heart aches for her, not only because of this issue, but because of all that she has to deal with. I feel a painful loosening of apron strings as my children become more independent, and thus more bare to the lashings of the world.

My daughter's blood pressure is normal and her BMI is under the recommended level for blood testing so I won't be putting her through that. (It seems like arbitrary punishment.) We're getting her a gift for Christmas that should encourage more physical activity (planned before the doctor visit). I'm readjusting my course as meal planner, to be sure that the meals my family eats are healthy. (Although taking stock right after Thanksgiving dinner is a bummer. The pie is officially gone now though.)

This little game of numbers is emotionally draining. All of my children eat the same meals, I even pack their lunches. My daughter and son play together and walk home from the bus every school day. My son has no BMI issues. Nagging my daughter about her weight won't make it better, negative feelings don't support and encourage change. I just don't know how to help my daughter realize that she lives by different body metabolism rules than her siblings without creating a downward spiral emotionally. And from where I'm standing now, her emotional health means more than that damned BMI.

October 06, 2009

After feeling like I was going to DIE this weekend we have found the problem and I am on the mend. First, just to keep you on the edge of your seat, let me make sure you understand what the problem was.

My hair has been falling out. Not a little, a lot. Like my husband was sweet and said he didn't notice but when I mentioned it to R. this morning she said, "Ya, I noticed something about your hair but I didn't want to say anything." There has been an ugly monster around the shower drain every time I step out. You tell me that's not scary, and not just from a vain point of view.

My muscles hurt, my joints hurt. My days were spent laying around with a heating pad and ice pack. So I gave in and took the muscle relaxers the doctor gave because the pain was so great. They took the cutting edge off the pain.

Headaches that just weren't going away despite the meds that were supposed to be making it better. Then those PT exercises every day. That just seemed like cruel torture on top of everything else.

Food has lost it's savor. When you prefer Ramen noodles to real food - there's a problem. Even going out to dinner with DH left me shrugging. There was a nausea, dizziness, a sensitivity to odors. This is a problem when you're doing the grocery shopping and cooking for everyone else.

I'm confused, it's hard to keep a train of thought moving in my head. I repeat a word over and over again as I try to tell that little train, "I think I can , I think I can, I think I can!" just to finish a sentence. This morning just to fill out the kid's school picture form I DH had to help me.

Now, I know you're all winking at each other and nodding, oh, she's preggers. That's it. No. That isn't it. If I were on top of everything else I'd absolutely fall apart. My body just can't handle it. Steps have been taken. Let me assure you.

In fact I've learned that many of these problems I'm listing are symptoms of malnutrition, like what happens when you're pregnant and the baby gets all the good stuff. I'm losing weight, but not in a good way.

So to accompany all this I've been a little emotional. Not so surprising considering I felt like I'd disintegrate into a pile of goo at any moment. But it was more than that, it was depression brought on by medication.

Thankfully this past weekend was General Conference for our church. So that meant none of the usual demanding responsibilities for me. Which was such a mercy because I could not have done it, I was flat on my back. Another reason it was a mercy was because we were able to stay home and receive wisdom and counsel from our leaders.

Elder Richard G. Scott

To some it may sound crazy, to others it confirms the faith we share, when I say that I received direct and indirect answers to my prayers and pleadings to God for help.

The problems I listed above were caused by a medication for headaches that the Neurologist prescribed. When I visited with the Neurologist a few days ago he asked if I had side effects but I couldn't answer. Which is the sign of one of the side effects - mental sluggishness. Instead he got agitated that I didn't answer his question. I don't know why he didn't identify the other side effects, it just makes me really sad that someone I went to for help let me down. It occured to me Sunday morning that this drug could be the problem. I reduced the dosage, felt better and then looked up the side effects on the internet. This specific drug has to be tapered up and down, so I'm slowly tapering off it. Already I feel the symptoms easing. But it will take months for my body to return to normal.

At the same time I can be happy that this isn't something lasting or permanent and that God answered my prayers so quickly. I am also so grateful because yesterday at PT they assessed my progress and my knees are stronger and have less pain than a month ago. The other health issues I've had have been so overwhelming that I haven't fully appreciated the healing in my knees. But it is getting better.

Real healing takes work, like physical therapy. Medications can be helpful. But be wise about it. Taking a medication is not a quick fix. There is a trade off, a side effect - long or short term. Please be sure you know about the medications you are taking. Each body is individual, one med that works wonders for one person will nearly kill another. So I won't tell you what med it was that didn't work for me.

Never turn over the responsibility for your body to someone else completely. I didn't think that was what I was doing. But maybe I was so tired and so much in pain that I wasn't being as careful with this gift of my body as I should have been.

May 24, 2009

In today's society we are supposed to be sorely afraid of aging. I mean SORELY, as in going through massive amounts of pain (and money) to look younger than we are. IMHO this is messed up. Age has it's benefits. Not that I'm over the hill or anything, but I've got a few years on me. DH and I will celebrate our 17th anniversary this summer. I am mother to a 14 year old. There are qualities that come with those years I wouldn't trade for anything. So I warn you in advance, I will be keeping my wrinkles to prove it.

Today I realized one of those qualities, gained from the passage of time - I no longer have an urge to prove my worth. Seriously. There have been times in my life I claimed this, not true then. I did hope to make it true though.

The number of hours and overburdened thoughts that went into proving my worth: inestimable. Everyone was a participant in my value contest; family members, friends, church leaders, casual acquaintances. I wanted everyone to like me, it felt necessary for them to like me and to think I was an amazing person. Now I know that to be happy = truly being myself. Which means I cannot be happy guessing what other people think I should do, so that they will think I am good.

It has taken me this many years to realize what Popeye told me all those years ago on Saturday morning cartoons, "I yam, what I yam!" (translation for you non-Popeye speakers: "I am what I am!")

This is me (not the yam!). I'm a work in progress. I don't claim perfection. I'm doing the best I can. I think you're doing the best you can too - so let's just get along. If you don't want to get along, I'll do what I can to find common ground because I like people.

Honestly, not feeling the need to prove myself may have come from more than just the sheer accumulation of years. Being sick has pulled me down a peg or two and opened my eyes to the fact that I wasn't fooling anyone. And if I were, I don't have the energy or time to continue foolin'.

For example, yesterday when my niece exclaimed, "I can't sit on that chair, it's all sticky!"

I smiled and said, "Sorry sweetie, we have alot of kids in this house, things get sticky."

That was the moment I knew something had changed inside of me. Because the old me would have rushed over with a sponge, embarassed, and coming up with some story of having pancakes that morning or something. It is, what it is. No embarassment or hard feelings, hopefully J&K don't put off visiting with us another 4 years because they stuck to the chairs ;)

Another factor in my calling it quits to the value game is my relationship with God. I'm no saint, I've got alot of work to do (some days I wonder how he looks upon backward progress). But, I know he looks at a person's desires, at their heart, in the grand scheme of things. He is the only judge that really matters. And honestly, I don't feel much judgment coming from him, mostly love and encouragement (sometimes by way of a kick in the pants). But maybe that's just because it's been a while since I read the Old Testament.

Don't get me wrong though. I still care about your feelings, your comfort in my home, that I am your friend. I just don't base my value as a human being on it any longer. Keep the compliments coming too (not that I'm fishing for them or anything..), it is nice to know when I do something well so I can try for repeat performances; it can be hard to tell from this side how things appear to you.

So now that we've come to the end of this post and you are sick of hearing about me, I will say:

You do know all of this applies to you too. Keep your wrinkles, stop overthinking what others think, you're a work in progress, find a way to be OK with God and let's just enjoy sticking to each other's kitchen chairs. Because in the end there's no proving it, it is a known fact - you are worth something, alot in fact.

January 03, 2009

For some reason when I arrived home and viewed my new do carefully I felt like disposing of the gingerbread house. It's time had come and I promised to let the kids help.

It felt good to have that taken care of. Now on to the next task.

Snip Snip

All Better!

This is not the first time I've had problems with a $50 haircut. Finding a stylist in a new area is worst than finding a gynie. After 2 1/2 years here you'd think I would have it figured out by now. I should have known when she didn't show me the back that it was trouble.

But this is not just like changing which grocery store you shop at. While sitting in that chair the stylist asks about my life, shares a little of hers, so it feels like a strange relationship. It is not like telling the auto mechanic that when he changed the oil he left the cap off. This woman has a sharp object next to my major arteries. So I'll do the passive thing and just cancel my next appointment and move on.